


fly with me

by mearcats



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Hurt/Comfort, Masturbation, Porn with Feelings, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-06-13 08:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15360120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mearcats/pseuds/mearcats
Summary: A collection of smutty Garcy prompts.





	1. Masturbation

“Show me,” Flynn says, eyes hooded and dark with desire. 

Lucy flushes, but reaches down to cup her own breasts. This relationship between them is so new, so delicate. They’re still learning what pleases the other, what makes them moan, what leads them to the height of ecstasy. 

It’s a hell of a time for him to get injured  _again_. He keeps on aggravating his old shoulder injury, and it’s very distressing. Not least because Lucy desperately wants him to be able to hold her, to take her up against the wall of his ( _their_ , if she’s being honest) room in their new safe house. Beyond that, she wishes she could show him how devastating it is to her emotions to see him acting with such flagrant disregard for his own damn safety.

“Lucy, come back,” he says, his tone all concerned reproof. 

She shakes her head and wills herself back into being present in the here and now. She smiles at him, and he returns it easily.

She watches as he leans back into his chair and bites her lip. She can do this, as unaccustomed as she is to doing this with an audience. Stretching back onto the bed, she pinches her nipples until they’re erect. 

Lucy looks over at him, gratified to see that he looks just as fuckstruck as the first time she was naked with him. 

He licks his lips, and she feels arousal course through her. Scraping her nails lightly across her skin, she basks in the pleasure, even as she wishes it were his mouth on her. 

(Later, she promises herself.)

Finally, she drags one hand through the short curls covering her mound. Garcia lets out a breathy moan, and her thighs clench in anticipation.

She teases him, prolongs the torture. Ever so slowly, she traces her folds. She’s wet--between the stimulation of her own touch and the semi-constant presence of her desire for the man a few feet away, she could end this quickly, if she wanted. But no, she wants to draw this out, wants him to beg—

—and beg he does. “Lucy,” he growls. “Please.” He’s wrecked, hair tousled and eyes wild with sheer want of her. She can see him straining against the dark denim of his jeans, and she feels a thrill.

She stops her movements. “Please  _what_ , Garcia?” This might have been his idea, but neither of them have any delusions about who’s in charge now.

“Touch yourself. Make yourself come,” he pleads.

For a moment, Lucy considers tormenting him further. But she wants to come, and then she wants to help him come. 

She resumes her gentle caresses until she’s sure she’s ready. Finally, she rubs her fingers across her clit. She gasps at the sensation.  _God_ , it feels so good, so wonderful. 

She doesn’t realize she’s closed her eyes until she opens them to see Flynn freeing his cock from the confines of his pants. The sight of him wrapping his good hand around his length and stroking himself nearly undoes, but she’s not there just yet. 

With her unoccupied hand, she slides a finger inside herself. She bites back a groan at how good it feels, even as she wishes it were him touching her. 

She sets a fast rhythm, rocking against her thumb as adds another finger inside herself. 

“Lucy,” Garcia cries, spilling into his hand. The sight of her lover in ecstasy sends her over the edge, and she keens as her vision whites out. She’s adrift in her pleasure.

When she comes back down from her climax, she gets up to wash up. Flynn has cleaned himself up already, and she goes and sits in his lap, nestling her head in the crook of his shoulder. 

“Next time, you’re going to lie on the bed while I fuck your face,” she tells him, still basking in the afterglow of her orgasm. 

He swears, “Jesus, Lucy.” A pause, and then he continues, “Whatever you want.”


	2. Friends with Benefits and Hurt/Comfort

“Lucy, are you–” She cuts off Flynn’s question with her lips, pulls him into the alley. She can’t bear to say she’s okay; she’s not, and her ribs hurt where Jessica managed to get a kick in during their scuffle. 

He returns her kiss eagerly, in spite of the public venue. It’s November, after all–there aren’t many people out and about, especially in wartime Edinburgh. And Flynn isn’t exactly shy about hiding their relationship. 

It’s not a relationship, not really. It’s more…close friends with benefits.  _Very_  close friends, with as many benefits as they can get, as often as they can get them, Lucy thinks, remembering one particularly fun evening a few days ago back at their safe house. 

She flushes. She can tell Flynn notices, can feel his smirk below her ear. He knows how affected she is when she shivers, and he sucks a mark into that spot. She’ll have to wear a turtleneck when they get back, but there’s hardly a shortage of them at the house. 

“Awa’n bile yer heads, y’ randy eejits,” yells an offended matron from an upstairs window of the building they’re leaning against. 

They pull apart with a giggle, and Lucy lets Flynn take her hand and tug her along until they reach the deserted iron foundry. 

Lucy sobers when she sees the ashes and crumbled bits of paper that still remain in the fire. Wyatt and Jiya have clearly succeeded in destroying Knothe’s plans, prototypes, and the beginnings of the first Mark VII tank–they’ve destroyed his life’s work. 

Right before she and Flynn took the poor guy for a joyride that ended with him concussed and brought before his regiment on charges of desertion, that is. 

Major Hugh Knothe is just a footnote in history, a could-have-been. Rittenhouse saw potential in him, in his brilliant mind and his ability to create weapons of war. So for the first time in a long while, it fell to the Time Team to try to preserve history and not allow for innovation. To not save a man seemingly destined for dishonor and early death.

It hurts, her ribs ache, and Lucy is mildly appalled to find that she’s crying. 

Flynn’s arms wrap around her waist, and he pulls her close. He’s solid and warm at her back, a shelter and support. She leans back against him, and he presses a kiss to the top of her head. 

They’re in the middle of a war, and there’s far too much going on right now–both emotionally and externally–for them to start anything more than what they have right now, but she’s grateful. Grateful for the depth of their unspoken connection, how he always seems to know when she needs him (even if he does occasionally completely flub how to provide that support). 

Lucy wipes her eyes and turns around in his embrace. She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him. It starts off slow and gentle, a wordless thanks. 

It turns more passionate, desperate, in an instant. Lucy clambers up, trying to lift herself into his arms. Her skirt hampers her movements, and she silently curses it.

He’s there for her, though, as he’s been since Salem. Flynn reaches under the curve of her ass and hauls her up against him, taking all her weight in his arms as though it’s nothing. 

“Distract me,” she says. 

His eyes soften. He says nothing, just swallows and nods, carrying her over to one of work tables. 

She expects it to be a hurried, frantic affair, but as he so often does, Flynn subverts her expectations. He’s gentle, thorough in his ministrations, unhurried even with the prospect of the rest of the team catching up to them. When they come together, Lucy shudders with the ecstacy and relief of it, safe within his embrace. 

He leans his forehead against her shoulder as he catches his breath, brushing a kiss across her clavicle. After a moment, he pulls away from her, wordlessly straightening their clothing.

Flynn kisses her after he helps her down from the table, and Lucy desperately wishes it were possible to bottle a moment, a feeling, because this is  _everything_. 


End file.
